


Whisper

by Mikkeneko



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Community: norsekink, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Post-Thor, Sensory Deprivation, Thunderfrost - Freeform, brofeels, mikke can't write porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkeneko/pseuds/Mikkeneko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is hypersensitive to the slightest touch. He was in the Void for so long, and in unfriendly hands for so long, that he's completely forgotten what good touch feels like, and he gets an extreme reaction to even a soft brush against his back or arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing in the theme of "Mikke can't fill any meme prompts the way they're intended," I think this is the most comforty thing I've ever written on the hurt-comfort spectrum. I'm not sure what that says about me.

The room was no more than a tiny antechamber, dimly lit; its entire purpose was to let the door behind Thor swing shut before the door in front of him opened, so that nothing from the world beyond would be let in. Thor swallowed and took a deep breath, holding himself firm for a moment, before he reached out and pushed the second door open.

It was like stepping into another world. All the fresh, cheerful chaos of Asgard was left behind him; the room beyond was shrouded in dark, soft fabrics that swathed the walls and muffled all sound that might have leaked through the stone walls. The only illumination was a few low, orange lanterns, carefully shielded so that they spilled their lights on the wall behind instead of shining directly out into the room. Deep shadows enfolded the space, showing only a dull outline and no colors or patterns at all. Yet still Thor recognized the room, knew its pattern and its outlines as he would know his own hands or feet in the dark: it was set up in the shape of his brother's old bedchamber, with the bed and the chair and the desk positioned over by the window to catch the best of the evening's light.

Except now, there was no light.

"Loki?" Thor spoke into the dimness, carefully keeping his voice as hushed as possible. Even his softest whisper sounded unnaturally loud in the hushed room, and he had to wonder what it sounded like to Loki. "Brother? Do you wake?"

The shadows shifted - Thor blinked, still trying to accustom his own eyes to the gloom - and found the familiar shape in the dimness as Loki raised his head. He had his back to one of the lanterns, unwilling to look at it directly, and the dull orange light played over his shoulder on the pages of a book.

"Thor," Loki said, and his own voice was even softer than Thor's had been - but where Thor had to put all his effort into quieting his voice, it seemed like the weak whisper was the most strength that Loki could muster. "You again."

"Reading again, Brother?" Thor said, trying to force cheerfulness into his voice. "You know what Mother always said, you shouldn't read in dim light or you'll ruin your eyes."

"Will I," Loki's toneless soft voice came from the shadows. "Well, since there is little enough else to do in this cell save to read, I suppose I will just have to take the risk." He stood abruptly, and the chair would have scraped harshly against the stone, if the ends had not been wrapped in padding on the carpeted floor. "Have you come to waste your time and mine, again, pretending to care for a prisoner?"

"Loki, you aren't a prisoner," Thor said, stepping forward. His volume rose with the protest and he saw Loki wince and flinch away, hands raising halfway to his head before he forced them down. With an effort, he modulated his voice. "You are not a prisoner, Brother. Why would you think that?"

"Why would I think that? Let me see," Loki said, and he turned his back to Thor and paced a few steps across the darkened floor, stopping at the place where his windows would have been, in his old chambers. "I usurped the throne, set the Destroyer on you and your lackeys, and tried to destroy a sovereign realm. Oh, yes, and let's not also forget that I then slipped the Allfather's justice, spending however many years at large before the eye of Asgard's tireless watchman fell upon me and dragged me back home like a fish at the end of a hook."

He turned to face Thor, and in the dim light his features were wracked by shadows. His eyes were deeply hollowed, the pupils in them so wide that they looked like dark holes in his face. It had been years since Thor had seen the color of his brother's eyes. "And now I am kept in close confinement, in this soft cell with guards posted at the door lest I get it in my head to run away again. And the Prince of Asgard deigns to visit me, and bring me gruel."

Thor swallowed against a heavy thickness in his grief, in his throat. "Loki. You are not a prisoner," he repeated, this time managing to keep his voice low. "You did not _flee_ from justice, Loki - you _fell_ , and for years we thought you dead. If Heimdall had not espied you in the void and rescued you, we would be mourning you still."

He paused a moment, his voice failing him as it struggled against the memory of that terrible, wonderful day. Wonderful, for Heimdall had sent word that he had found Loki at last, and that with the All-father's aid he thought he could retrieve him from the Void into which he had fallen. Wonderful, for the elation that had filled Thor as he realized that his brother was not dead at all, but only lost, and could soon be brought home -

And then terrible, for that grueling hour where his family knelt gathered on the floor of Heimdall's observatory as Loki writhed and screamed on the floor before them. Curling in on himself like he could make himself disappear, his hands alternately pressed at his ears or scrabbled clawlike at his squeezed-shut eyes. The light of the sun and the stars and the Bifrost pierced at him, the cacophony of people and animals and life and magic thundered upon his ears until he lashed out, maddened beyond reason, striking alternately at his rescuers or at himself.

In the end Frigga had stilled him with a sleep-spell, but even in sleep Loki was not peaceful; he continued to twitch and shiver as they carried him through the golden halls of Asgard to the healing chambers. Once there, the healers announced that he bore no wounds, nor curses nor any other illness - save for the indescribable toll that the years of deprivation had taken on his body.

Two years it had been, two years in Asgard since the Bifrost had broken - but for Loki, it had been much more. Time did not flow smoothly in all the realms, and the evidence of Loki's hair (now fallen to his elbows before it had stopped growing of its own accord) and the new hollow lines that scored his face, bore mute testimony to how long Loki had been trapped in that dark and silent place. Ten years? Twenty? Fifty? They had no way of knowing, only that Loki had been lost in nothingness until any noise or light was an agony to him.

And so they built this chamber for him, fashioning the shape as close as they could to his childhood rooms in hopes that the familiarity would soothe his ravaged spirit. The walls were built thick, padded and warded with charms against any intruding noise, and only the dimmest of candles were allowed so that their light would not pierce Loki's eyes. Then they began to slowly, slowly nurse Loki back to health.

Thor had been forbidden from Loki's bedside, at first, when it became apparent that he could neither move nor speak softly enough for Loki to bear. Thor had always disdained the arts of stealth, and seen no need to moderate his voice; he worked on such skills now, but they did not come easily to him. All the more so when Loki inspired such fervent emotions in him, that he wanted to rage or weep or shout, but instead must confine himself to a whisper.

Loki smiled mirthlessly. "It is terribly convenient for the All-father, to be sure," he said. "That in the eyes of Asgard I am already imprisoned, and so he need not debate whether to pass sentence on me for my crimes. At least - not yet."

Thor shifted uneasily. It was true that Odin had issued no official announcement about Loki's status, and many of those around Asgard had drawn their own conclusions as to Loki's fate. He had corrected his own friends emphatically when they had begun to speculate, but he could not quell all the flapping tongues of rumor. "You are here only because the light and noise of the open world causes you pain, and we never wished for that," Thor insisted. "We are _worried_ about you, Loki; we are not angry with you, we do not seek to punish you or trap you -"

Loki laughed, a dusty, hollow sound. "And am I free to come and go as I will, then?" he asked. "If I tried to walk out that door now, would the guards allow me my liberty?"

Thor stayed silent. He had seen how Loki flinched as if from a blow from the slightest slips, from raised voices, from the flare of a match. To walk out the door now would most likely render him insensible, set his progress back by weeks. Thor would like to believe that it was a bluff, that Loki would not put himself through such an ordeal only to test the limits of his family's will. But this was Loki, and his brother had ever been willing to inflict any amount of pain on himself to prove a point. Rather than let him injure himself in such a pointless show of defiance, the guards would turn him back - and so would Thor.

Loki snorted, turning his back to Thor again. "I thought as much," he said. "A prison is a prison, no matter how softened at the edges."

"It will not be forever, Brother," was all Thor could think of to say. "Just until you are stronger. Already you have made great progress - you can bear three lanterns in your room, instead of only one. Why, you can even bear _my_ presence without pain," Thor said, and tried to smile.

"A milestone I would just have soon have skipped over," Loki said dryly.

Thor sighed. He supposed he ought to be glad that Loki was being so difficult, his tongue ready with barbs. It was an improvement over those frightening first days when he was insensible, or babbled gibberish in no known tongue of the Realms; the healer had opined that it was only noise he had made to comfort himself in his solitude. Gradually his senses had returned to him, his composure pieced back together bit by bit like a cloak torn to scraps and stitched together to form a ragged, uneven whole. And when it had, his first few days of desperately clinging to them had retreated behind a wall of wary coldness.

"I have brought breakfast, Loki," he said instead, and carefully shifted his burden down to settle on the table between them. Loki winced again at the scrape of the tray over the wood, however gentle Thor tried to make it, and looked up at Thor warily.

"Halldis made it with love," Thor said encouragingly. The palace at Asgard employed an army of chefs to keep the staff fed, but only a few were dedicated to producing food for the royal family, and Halldis had always been the most friendly to a pair of little boys sneaking around the kitchen hoping for treats. She remembered Loki fondly, and Thor hoped he would remember her so, too.

Loki slid into the seat in front of the table, reached for the wooden spoon that accompanied the tray. He took only one bite, and then in a moment he had shoved the dish away, gagging and coughing as though the food had burned him. It could not have - it had been only barely warm when Thor had fetched it from the dinner, and ought to have cooled to a perfect room temperature while he walked.

"What _is_ this?" Loki looked up at him, water streaming from his huge dark eyes, and demanded, "Are you trying to _poison_ me?" From the outrage in his face, he ought to be shouting himself hoarse right now - but even in the worst fits of anger, he could barely raise his strangled voice much above a whisper.

"...It's only honey, Loki," Thor said, saddened. He'd wanted it to be a surprise. Up until now Loki had only been able to bear to eat the very blandest of foods, soft tasteless porridge or soup so thin it was nearly water. Porridge with honey had always been Loki's favorite way to eat it - Thor had hoped that the familiar taste would bring back good memories for him.

"I am not a child, that you can bribe with sweets, Thor," Loki spat, and shoved the bowl away from himself. "Bring me something else that I can eat, unless you prefer to watch me starve."

Thor sighed sadly, and pulled forward the second bowl that had been hidden behind the first. He'd asked Halldis to make another dish, this one plain, just in case. Loki eyed it for a moment, wary and scowling, before he finally pulled it close to him and began to eat. This time there was no incident, and Thor sat watching in silence as Loki inhaled the food. At least he did not need to be coaxed into eating any longer. Gods as they were, it would take them a very long time to die of starvation, the more so Loki who had his magic to sustain him - but they still did suffer for lack of food, and Loki's time in the Void had reduced him to but a shadow of his former self.

In more ways than one.

"I wish you would at least _try_ , Brother," Thor said eventually. "Even if only a little bit. If you do not train your senses each day, how will they get stronger? It is like any other muscle - it must be used, or else it will never strengthen."

Loki snorted into his spoonful of porridge. "How very like you to turn this into a lecture about to combat training," he said. "Not everything in the world can be compared to sparring, Thor."

"But this can," Thor said, and he caught his brother's hand as he lifted the spoon again. Loki went abruptly still and Thor saw the shudder travel up his arm to his shoulder, racking his spine. Thor reached over with his other hand and enfolded Loki's hand in both of his, taking the spoon gently from his grip and letting it clatter in the mostly-empty bowl. He wrapped his fingers around Loki's palm, pressing ever so lightly, and Loki closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Spar with me, Brother?" Thor entreated, chafing the hand he held lightly in his own. Of all the senses that were slow to reaccustom after his time in the Void, touch was perhaps the hardest for Loki. He had been withdrawn and reclusive even before his fall, Thor recalled sadly, never reaching out to initiate an embrace or a handclasp unless others did so first. But the years of deprivation had left his skin wide-open, every nerve jangling, until the lightest breath of a feather set Loki flinching and scrambling away. It had been a slow process, convincing Loki to submit to even the gentlest of touches; only Thor's stubbornness had allowed him to wear down the walls of Loki's resistance.

Loki swallowed, his eyes still closed, and nodded.

Loki's hands were all tendon and bone, pressing sharp into Thor's palms; his fingers were slender but long, longer even than Thor's. Thor remembered these hands from a hundred different visions of their childhood; Loki dipping a quill to put to paper, Loki tying a bandage off on Thor's arm, Loki's hands moving so deftly and gracefully through the motions of a spell. Thor turned Loki's hand palm-up in his own, fingers tracing along the grooves scored in his palm, while Loki's hand twitched and his arm tensed with the effort not to pull away.

Thor turned Loki's hand sideways and clasped it firmly in his left, while his right hand traced up over the delicate skin of Loki's wrist. His fingers skipped over the protruding bone of Loki's wrist and skimmed upwards, under the loose sleeve of his tunic. All of Loki's clothes now were shapeless and soft; a size too big even for what he had once worn, he nearly swam in them now, in an effort to reduce the chafing or binding that would constantly agitate him. It made it easy for Thor to push the sleeve up above his elbow, brush his fingers lightly over the skin of Loki's forearm, feel him shudder as the hair on his arms was brushed back. The dark hair on his arms was sparse, and under such low light it was all but invisible to Thor's eyes; the lanterns painted the canvas of his skin a flawless orange-gold instead of its usual pale, hiding every little flaw and scar from view. But Thor could still feel them under his fingers, each tiny ridge and divot. He pressed lightly on the inside of Loki's forearm, and saw his fingers curl as the tendons flexed.

Loki said no word of complaint, although his breath was coming faster and more unevenly now, so Thor continued his gentle exploration up the path of Loki's arm. He slid his palm over the ridge of muscles on Loki's upper arm, squeezing lightly, and was saddened to realize how much it had wasted away. Loki was never as bulky as Thor, even at the height of their training, but he was strong enough to be a match for almost any warrior of the Aesir with his knives. Thor could feel the weakness now where there ought to be strength, and he carefully kneaded the ridge of muscle as if he could transfer some of his own strength through his brother's skin by dint of touch.

Loki gasped and flinched back, and Thor immediately stilled. "Did I hurt you?" he asked - he did not withdraw his touch completely, but he lightened it to only fingertips. His brother shook his head jerkily and swallowed hard, turning his head to look off into the shadows of the room rather than meeting Thor's gaze.

"Your hands are - warm," he said under his breath. "They burn."

Did they? Thor was surprised by the comment, he didn't think he was any warmer than usual. Indeed, in the chill of Loki's room his hands felt a little cooler than normal, when they were not heated by friction on Mjolnir's handle or some other labor. It was only that Loki's skin felt cooler than it ought, chilled even under the voluminous soft garments that he wore.

"Nay, Brother," Thor said, resuming his gentle strokes up and down Loki's arm. "It is only that you are so cold."

That was the wrong thing to say and Thor realized it as soon as the words left his mouth. The knowledge of Loki's true heritage, the truth that his brother was a _frost giant_ hung like a spectre between them, threatening to poison their easy quiet. Loki stiffened and his eyes flashed with hurt, his mouth setting in an angry line as he turned away and tried to yank his arm free. "Loki, no," Thor protested, hanging on and pulling Loki back to face him. "I did not mean that, I swear."

"How can you stand it?" Loki demanded, and his voice was strangled into an anguish whisper. "How can you stand to touch me, even _knowing_ what lies beneath this skin?"

Thor met his eyes and held him, giving him the weight of his solemn stare. "I know what lies beneath this skin," he said, pressing down just the tiniest bit harder when Loki tried once more to tug his arm away. "It is the child who followed me when we were both boys, and the friend who stood at my back in every battle when we became men. It is the man I've loved all my life."

Loki made a little broken noise that didn't quite qualify as a word, and his eyelids fluttered shut. Thor kept one hand on Loki's shoulder, grounding him, while he brought the other up to cup Loki's cheek. What roundness there might once have been to these features was long gone, but he could still see his brother's familiar face in the bones and sharp angles left behind: could still imagine Loki grinning mischievously at him, his eyes twinkling as he laughed.

His brother was like a ruined temple, a hollowed out tree. His eyes were bruised and ringed with shadows, his cheeks drawn tightly over hollows, and bones and ropy tendons pressed against his skin at every joint. He was wasted and ravaged, crossed by lines of starvation and suffering, but underneath all that Thor could see that his brother was healing, _healing_ and that was the most beautiful sight Thor could possibly imagine.

Thor's thumb caressed the fragile skin beneath Loki's eyes while his palm measured the sharp lines of his cheekbones, then brushed over the chapped roughness of Loki's lips as he dropped his hand. Loki's lips parted, and a cool damp breath of air ghosted between them to caress Thor's palm in turn, sending a chill tingle up his arm through his spine.

Loki swallowed hard, and the motion drew Thor's eye to the pulse fluttering in his throat. He laid his fingers lightly on the pale column of Loki's neck, tracing the slanting muscle from his jaw down to the hard points of the collarbone. Loki's shirt is only loosely laced at the neck, threatening to fall off his shoulders otherwise, and Thor easily brushed it aside in favor of splaying his whole palm and fingers on the pale expanse of Loki's chest.

His brother made another sound, this one not quite so broken, and tipped his head back as he gripped the edge of the table with his free hand, hips shifting involuntarily on his seat. Thor saw the motion, as well as the shift in silhouette that made a slow, but definite dent in his trousers.

Thor couldn't hide his amusement. "Rediscovering some of the pleasures of the flesh, Loki?" he said jokingly

Loki's eyes slitted open and he gave his brother a withering glare, even as his cheeks flushed visibly darker even in the low light. "Oh, shut up," he muttered. "You invited this, so don't tease."

Thor laughed. "Now, what kind of brother would I be if I passed up an opportunity to tease?" he said.

"What kind of brother are you now?" Loki countered sharply, and the barb stung even though it wasn't even particularly harsh, by Loki's standards.

He should think of something witty and profound to say in reply, something that would soothe Loki's fears and reassure him that whatever may come between them, Thor will always love Loki, always give him whatever he needs, always follow him to the darkness to drag him back into the light. But he was never the one in their family skilled with words, and so - "Yours," he said, through the thick lump in his throat that seeks to smother him. "Yours."

Thor slid his arm down Loki's shoulder to grip his hand once more, bringing it to his lips. Loki's hands were somewhat less oversensitive than the rest of him - if only because he had to use them for everyday tasks - so Thor decided to push the envelope, raising each of Loki's fingers and closing his lips over each one in turn. He was rewarded by seeing Loki's mouth fall open on a gasping breath, his eyes wide and dark in the dim lighting. When Thor lapped gently at Loki's fingertips with his tongue, Loki gave a full-body shudder and his head fell back, baring more of that slender throat.

Thor chuckled again, low and sultry at the reaction he had garnered. "S-so pleased with yourself," Loki stuttered, struggling for words. "Nh... no need to be..."

"It's a rare occasion to reduce the Silvertongue to speechlessness," Thor countered, then leaned in to press his lips against the sharp jut of Loki's collarbone. He let his teeth come into play, just a little bit, as his free hand slid down across the flat planes of Loki's chest to brush against his nipple.

That's when it all went wrong.

A wordless noise burst from Loki's lips, one that spoke of agonizing pain. His whole body jerked against Thor's hold, his hand shaking free of Thor's grasp and his body flinching back and curling in on itself. Thor's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, and he reached across the table towards his brother. "Loki?" he said, panic edging his voice. "What's wrong? Did I - ? Are you hurt?"

"Too much," Loki whined through his teeth, curling in on himself and shaking. "Too intense, don't - don't -"

All Thor could do was hover helplessly, and curse himself for pushing too far.

 

* * *

 

For what felt like the thousandth time today alone, Loki cursed the treachery of his own body. How he could need something so much, crave it so unrelentingly, and yet any attempts to claim it turned into pure misery? Thor's hands on him had felt so good - overwhelming, but at least overwhelmingly _good -_ until the edge of Thor's hands had carelessly rubbed over his nipple. Then it was like Thor had called Mjolnir to his hand and hit him directly with a bolt of lightning. Pure sensory overload that blew past pleasure into unbearable pain.

And yet _still_ this heat pooled in his groin, his cock standing stiff and hard in his loose pants. Loki feared the thought of what would happen if he touched it, or even brushed against it accidentally - it would make Thor's carelessness seem like a gentle zephyr in comparison.

But if he did not, Loki knew that it would set up a cramping ache in his lower guts that would torment him for hours, well after the erection itself had faded. _Damn_ the pathetic weakness of his own body, anyway, that would punish him equally no matter what he did or didn't do! And damn Thor anyway, for bringing him to such a state -

"Loki, I'm sorry," Thor said, and he sounded so _sincere,_ remorse welling up in those big blue eyes and overflowing everywhere. It made it so hard to stay angry with him. "Should I... should I leave?"

Loki managed to uncurl just slightly - he had to make each movement with exquisite care, so as not to drag his clothing against his stiffened prick - but it was enough to level a death glare at his so-called brother. "If you leave me here with this job half-done, Odinson," he said in a flat voice, "Mark my words, I _will_ find a way to kill you in your sleep."

Thor hesitated. "What - what should I do, then?" he said uncertainly. "I do not wish to..." He trailed off, and made a vague gesture with both of his big hands that seemed to describe Loki's hunched, defensive stance.

Loki let out a long, slow breath. "It's fine," he forced out through dry lips, a blatant lie but a necessary one. "You can continue. Just... just not so _directly_. "

Thor still looked doubtful, and also anxious as though afraid that any touch would shatter Loki like glass. Loki sighed. "Can you..." He caught his lip between his teeth, not quite daring to bite down. "Can you brush my hair?"

"Certainly, brother," Thor said, his demeanor brightening right up at the invitation. Really, with Thor here one hardly needed to waste oil for the lamps; one could practically read by the light of earnestness shining off his face.

By the time Thor had retrieved the brush and comb from its place on his mostly-empty chest of drawers, Loki had managed to maneuver himself around on his chair until he was sitting sideways, his back open to the room. He felt Thor come up behind him and had to set his teeth not to react, his skin prickling, every nerve jumping with anticipation.

When Thor's hands settled gently on the back of his head, Loki was able to let himself relax with a sigh. Thor had learned this routine well, and he gently took hold of Loki's hair near the scalp to guard against painful yanks while he worked the comb through any tangles in the length of it. Combing his hair was almost the first touch that Loki had been able to bear from any of his family without flinching. With the protective layer of hair between his skin and theirs, it was not so terrible, not so overwhelming, and Loki was able to relax into the sensation of being... cared for.

He could admit to himself, if not to anyone else, how badly he needed that. Not just the skinhunger - at least Loki could admit that was a mere biological craving, hardly unique to himself, that after so many years without contact his skin would demand the sensation of touch as stringently as it rejected it. But the sensation of being looked after, treasured, and _wanted_ by his family.

Before he had let himself fall, Loki had convinced himself that all the affection they had ever claimed to have for him was a lie. He had let go of Odin's spear believing that there could be nothing worse in death than the echoing emptiness of his heart, of his soul.

Years in the Void had taught him otherwise.

And yet his family - Odin and Frigga and Thor - had found him, and brought him home, and granted him a safe and quiet place to stay while he labored to piece himself back together. As much as he harbored doubts about Odin's ultimate intentions, about Frigga's loyalty, he could not bring himself to doubt Thor's (painfully) honest affection. How he could bring himself to feel it for a traitorous frost giant changeling, Loki couldn't understand, but he evidently did.

Loki could not understand, but he was beginning - slowly - to believe.

Thor finished working the tangles out of his hair and let it fall against his neck, switching the comb for a soft-bristled brush. He began drawing the brush through Loki's hair in long, even strokes, and shivers broke out all along Loki's shoulders and back as he gripped the edge of the chair for support.

In the years he'd spent in the void, Loki had forgotten so many things. The taste of water, the color of Asgard's walls, the sound of his mother's voice. But above all other things he had forgotten how _connected_ his body was, all the parts to each other. There was no reason why Thor massaging his hand should send forked bolts of warm golden lightning up his arm and through his chest, and yet it did. There was no reason why Thor running his fingers over the crown of Loki's head should send a tingling waterfall of warmth down through his back, branching out through each rib and nerve and grounding itself at last at the root of his spine.

And yet it did.

When at last Thor set aside the brush and began running his fingers over Loki's scalp, stroking the newly straightened hair in its nap, Loki had to brace both arms against the edge of the table and bow his head. Behind him Thor made a noise that was halfway between a chuckle and a sad lament, and Loki would have to _throttle_ the idiot if he stopped now.

Thor ran his fingers with just the slightest bit of pressure over the crown of Loki's head, circling his forehead and the ridges of bone above his ears. It felt so intense, so overwhelmingly good that he could barely process it without seizing up, could barely make it out that Thor was talking to him again.

"I've never seen your hair so long, Brother," Thor was saying. "Not since we were but children, and Fandral teased you about it, saying you looked more a girl than Sif did. You cut your hair the next day, and never let it get past your shoulders again."

Then Thor's hands were combing over his scalp, raking all his hair back from the front and sides to gather it into a loose tail. Not too tight, for that would pull his scalp and cause agony, but when pulled back it at least wouldn't fall into his face and irritate him with the sharp strands.

"I like it like this, though," Thor said, and his lowered voice seemed to set up a tremor in Loki's belly. "It suits you, like a sweep of night. I would have thought it would be curly, now that you have left your oils behind, brother, but it has only a bit of wave - perhaps its own weight pulls it straight?"

Loki's mouth opened on a gasp, but all that leaked out was his brother's name, before he closed it with a snap.

Thor's hands closed about the back of his neck, and they were so warm - almost burning - that Loki's breath caught as though it could not pass such an obstruction. He began rubbing the back of Loki's neck gently, pressing lightly along the bottom of the hairline and running light fingers down his spine between his shoulders. His hands stopped when they ran against the collar of Loki's shirt.

"Is it all right if I push this down, Loki?" Thor asked quietly, and Loki could barely move his head in a nod. Thor didn't try to work the sleeves off his arms, only pulled the loosened neck over his shoulders until the whole shirt sagged around him, hanging from his elbows and around his mid-back. Thor brushed the ponytail of hair over his shoulder, thumping softly to the table before him, and spread out both hands on Loki's shoulderblades, all ten fingers fanning out like wings.

Loki's vision nearly whited out with the sensation of it.

It was Thor's voice that called him back to himself. "You know, it's strange," Thor said conversationally, even as he ran his hands slowly - oh so slowly - down Loki's back from the top of his shoulders to the bottom of his ribcage. "On most other men, the right side of their back is more developed, from the stronger muscles of their sword arm." Each slow pass sent a wave of heat down through Loki's chest and lungs, bottoming out in his belly and hips.

"Yet on you, both sides seem to be equally slender," Thor continued, and Loki could not spare enough of his brain to wonder if he should be insulted. It would have to be a subtle insult, if so, and Thor was never good at subtle. "I wonder why that is?"

"I'm not... right-handed," Loki managed to get out between stiff lips, and Thor hummed agreement, a sound that seemed to travel down his arms to his hands to transmit to Loki's skin. He shivered convulsively, all over his body, as though his skin were a single piece that all reacted at once to any touch. Electric arcs seemed to travel down through his legs, making his feet twitch and his toes curl, and back up to the top of his head.

"That's true, you always write and do magic with your left hand," Thor agreed. His hands never ceased their slow movement, tracing the outline of muscle and bone in a way that left them outlined with glowing fire in Loki's mind's eye. "And yet you wield a sword with your right hand, when you wield one at all. Tyr would have had it no other way. And you can throw a knife with either hand, I've seen you do it. I suppose that just means you're more balanced than the rest of us."

Loki's mouth opened, but all that passed his lips were ragged pants. His hips were trembling with the effort of staying still, straining to snap forward and seek some friction. Only the recent memory of what a terrible idea that would be kept his hands locked on the edge of the table, instead of reaching for his cock to stroke himself to some relief. Thor had done no more than lay hands on his back and _talk_ to him, and yet already he was _so close..._

"Like one of your throwing knives," Thor said, and his voice was unexpectedly close to Loki's ear. Loki gasped and fell forward a few inches, catching himself before he slammed painfully into the table.

 _" Thor- "_ Loki choked out, but couldn't seem to find his tongue to say any more words. It was like the rest of him, addled and unstrung from his brother's touch.

"You are beautiful, Loki," Thor breathed in his ear, and the wet heat of his breath hit the shell just as Thor's lips brushed against the very outer lobe.

It was as though a circuit had been drawn down his neck and chest and belly, going directly from his ear to his cock. Loki gave a wordless shout, and gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles felt liable to snap as his cock spent itself in the empty air. A blinding boil of colors surged up behind his eyes, and for a moment he could see nothing and hear nothing, and all that was on his lips was the name of Thor, _Thor -_

It was a few minutes more before he calmed down enough to open his hands, which were throbbing and raw from the force he had applied to them. The discomfort seemed hazy and distant, though, along with the dozen and one other minor discomforts that Loki did his best every day (unsuccessfully) to ignore. Thor had moved to take a chair beside him and was just petting the long fall of his hair now, far enough removed from his skin as not to irritate.

Loki took a deep breath and shrugged his shirt back up around his shoulders, protecting his skin from the slight drafts of his room. He turned to glance at his brother, who was sitting there with an absolutely _goofy_ look on his face, and a smugness that Loki would like to claw off his lips if even he couldn't admit that it was warranted.

He would clean himself up later, after Thor had gone and the sensitivity had faded enough that touching the skin of his cock and thighs would not prove a torment. In the meantime, at least the material of the trousers was loose enough that he could pull the wet stain away from his skin, and not have to endure it for a little while.

"Thank you," he said quietly, unsure how much more to say. He felt he ought to offer a return, but he was in no shape to do any such things yet - and he could make no guarantees for a later date, not when he was so uncertain about what his future would hold.

Not that Thor needed any such promise, apparently, for even Loki's begrudging words were enough to put a wide smile on his face. "It was no trouble at all, Brother!" he said happily, and Loki burned with his reflected warmth.

Then his stomach growled, and Loki felt his face flame while Thor laughed at him. "Oh ho! Seems like your body has been undergoing hungry work."

"Shut up," Loki muttered, and threw the hairbrush at Thor when he would not stop chortling. "Let's see you fast in an empty void for years, and see how quickly your stomach fills up again afterwards."

That doused Thor's laughter, and Loki felt equal parts mean guilt and mean satisfaction. "I am sorry, Brother," Thor said seriously. "Would you like me to go and get another bowl from the kitchens?"

"Perhaps," Loki said, but his eye was caught by the abandoned tray on the far end of the table, that he had pushed away so violently before this whole thing had started.

Perhaps it would not be so bad, now that he knew to expect it. Now that his foster-brother was not trying to spring some unexpected surprise on him. In the dreamy lassitude that enveloped his body, Loki thought he could bear almost any trial - even the painful sweetness that had pierced his mouth earlier and threatened to burn its way all the way to his stomach. Perhaps...

He gestured. "On the other hand, why waste a trip to the kitchens when there's perfectly good food right here?"

"Brother!" Thor beamed, as though Loki had just named him champion of this year's games, rather than only agreeing to eat a plate of porridge. He hastened to pull the tray over within Loki's reach, fishing the abandoned spoon from wherever it had fallen. "I knew you could do it, if you would only put your mind to it. Every little step brings you one step closer to full health, you know!"

Loki rolled his eyes. "Oaf," he muttered, and he bent to his task of getting stronger.


End file.
